


sympathy for fools

by flambydelrabies



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Intimacy, Hurt/Comfort, I don't go here but, M/M, YOLO, can be read as romantic and can also not, probably a little nonsensical if you haven't read journey, true friendship is writing a fic for your friend's fic, zelos as chosen of regeneration i should probably mention that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flambydelrabies/pseuds/flambydelrabies
Summary: Zelos didn’t think he deserved to live, but at least someone out there did.He shut his eyes, and finally he thought to himself,maybe I want to live, too.For toniwilder and her fic Journey of Forlorn Hope.
Relationships: Regal Bryant & Zelos Wilder, Regal Bryant/Zelos Wilder
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	sympathy for fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toniwilder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toniwilder/gifts).



> oh boy so like, Haley and I go way back, right? and at one point recently we were talking about how she's picking up her fic Journey again, and she said it's been hard to keep it gen and not make it zegal. To which I, being the bro I am, said "don't worry bb, i'll put the zegal in your fic so you don't have to" and this was born. Takes place sometime around ch7 around the visit with Seles. 
> 
> I think all you really need to know to read this comfortably is that Zelos is on the journey of regeneration and lost his voice. For those of you who liked Weltschmerz and want to read another take on the chosen Zelos idea that's gen with less significant canon divergence, check out Journey of Forlorn Hope, it's an excellent read.
> 
> anyway, enjoy

Zelos’ throat burned. It twisted and it throbbed and it seared, each breath coated in flames that crept up and made a home in the base of his larynx. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d drank a cocktail of Tethe’alla’s finest wine mixed with its most deadly poison.

It was strange for him, feeling useless in all these ways he’d never before. Having a stomach that could still digest food, a brain that could turn off enough long enough to sleep at night, and the ability to open his mouth and scream, much less  _ speak, _ were all things he’d never thought he’d take for granted anymore.

Worthless. 

_ Useless.  _

He turned in the makeshift bed that lay under the ship’s deck, and if he could cry, he would’ve. Too bad for him. Useless is as useless does.

Their boat was dark, dingy, and little light was let in when the sun went down, and here he was, in the dark by himself as if sitting in purgatory. Zelos had been alone for all his life, really, but now he was more than ever. Kratos was poor company, Lloyd wouldn’t stop nagging, Sheena doted incessantly. Everything about this journey was another way to strip him of any fragment of himself he’d thought he could even have left. Couldn’t even have succeeded at running from it. Useless poison for a useless chosen. Even if he did, the honour would be passed off to Seles, and he’d sooner die first than let her suffer like this. 

Seles-- he thought of her, of their visit where she brushed the hair out of his face and he listened to her breaths cough and sputter the whole night through. Saving the world meant his own demise, his own personal hell, dragged across hot coal and shards of glass. Even that felt too kind of a metaphor.

_ Ha. _ Metaphors never were his thing, anyways.

A creak of stairs, far too loud for his now-heightened senses, scraped against his eardrums the same way every word he thought to speak died before it could even leave his mouth. Zelos tossed again, feeling the scritch-scratch of blankets beneath him. He had a visitor. Almost wished he didn’t. He was alone, but he couldn’t tell you anymore whether or not he was lonely.

“Zelos. May I sit with you?”

It was Regal. That wasn’t so bad, he thought. At least Regal called him by his own name. He’d sooner retch onto the floor than be called anything else. The word  _ chosen _ only made him sick by now, and sick was all he knew how to be.

Zelos wrenched himself upwards, leaning back against the wooden boards behind him and shuddering when they creaked in his ear, as if fingernails dragged directly next to his face and into the crevices of his brain. He frowned at the question, since he could do little else. Nod for yes. Shake for no. The only things he could say without a single word.

Scratch that. He  _ was _ lonely, even if he knew being around his companions wouldn’t do any more than aggravate him and them both. They were too nice to him, really, whether of their own volition or some godforsaken sense of self-righteousness, but even knowing that, Regal’s presence remained gentle and he couldn’t think of a real reason to justify telling him no.

Zelos looked him up and down, then nodded.

“I thought you could use some company,” Regal spoke, expecting no answer in return. Zelos couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. It was all a sick joke at his expense, but Zelos still found himself surprisingly at ease. Maybe he hadn’t hit rock bottom yet, but he still expected to feel the crash and burn any moment now.

A quick glance in the other man’s direction, and Zelos found himself lowering his brows at the same time that he lowered his guard. Regal looked back, and their eyes met.

“This journey has taken much from you. Such is a pain you shouldn’t have to bear alone.”

Zelos relaxed, even if he knew as well as Regal did there was little he could say back. Or nothing at all, really. His throat burned once more at the thought-- a sharp, searing pain that couldn’t be anything less than world-ending. He did what he did best and laughed at the irony of that statement. The only world that would be ending by the time he stepped foot into the Tower was his own.

And still, Zelos felt the warmth of Regal’s shoulder radiating to his left, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt another human body against his own in any context that didn’t make him feel sicker.

“Would you like to talk, Zelos? I could grab your notebook.” Zelos nearly laughed at the question, but shook his head. He hated being forced to communicate that way, having to observe the growing looks of boredom as he transcribed his thoughts at a pace three times as slow as he’d be able to voice them on his own. Instead, he grit his teeth and grabbed Regal by the wrist, taking note of the way he raised his brows in surprise. 

Zelos drew out his index finger and traced the nail against the palm of the noble’s hand; he was so sick of  _ barriers, _ it was nearly a relief to feel any sensation of skin against skin at all.

Regal picked up on Zelos’ new tactic quickly, taking careful note of the letters he scribed against his open hand. It was slower than the notebook, nearly ten times so, but it paled in comparison to knowing someone was there and listening.

_ ‘Thanks’ _

“What for?” Regal asked, his voice in quisitive as he took note of each of Zelos’ ragged breaths with eyes fixated on his still-open palm.

_ ‘The--’ _

Every second felt excruciating as each letter was drawn with shaky, fumbling hands. By now, all the grace and care Zelos had possessed before the oracle had been taken, shorn, and decimated, until left in little bits and pieces scattered throughout his hollow body. 

_ ‘--company’ _

Regal chuckled and Zelos felt every heave of his chest rumble into his fingertips. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Zelos.”

Zelos shook his head, blazing strands of messy, red birdnest hair flashing across his vision. 

_ ‘Everyone--’ _

He continued to trace his nail along the creases of Regal’s hand, and he no longer found himself humiliated by the shell of a hollowed-out animal he’d been reduced to, because the other man’s eyes lacked that look of pity he so despised. Grimacing, whether of pain or something greater, Zelos let his teeth clench until he swore they’d shatter. He found himself taking  _ comfort _ in Regal’s presence.

A feeling that was nothing short of foreign.

_ ‘--leaves.’ _

“I won’t be going anywhere.” The edges of Regal’s lips curled into a smile, soft enough for Zelos to stop wanting to bite through his useless tongue, at least for long enough for him to bury his head in Regal’s lap and let himself shake and shiver. 

“We’re going to find a way to save from this. You will be able to live too, the same way everyone else will.”

Zelos choked back a sob. The only thing he could do was be vulnerable, to let himself feel while he still could because only Martel knew what would happen to him next, what else would be  _ taken, _ what else would be _ torn _ from his empty body and caged mind until there was nothing left. 

He’d sooner die, he thought.

Then Regal pulled him closer until his heartbeat rang through Zelos’ ears, each rhythmic notation vibrating through his entire body until it was all he could hear. It was different from every other sensation that made his stomach churn. Instead, some part of him wanted to listen, so he did.

“I’m here, Zelos.”

Zelos pulled him closer, until he couldn’t have constricted himself around Regal’s body any tighter.

“You’ll live alongside us, in the regenerated world.”

The shakes and seizes began subsiding, until Zelos let himself lay limp in Regal’s arms. He didn’t believe in himself, but at least somebody else did. He didn’t think he deserved to live, but at least someone out there did.

He shut his eyes, and finally he thought to himself, _ maybe I want to live, too. _


End file.
